


Champagne and Cupcakes

by Taamar



Category: Torchwood
Genre: Angst, Birthday, Episode: s01e04 Cyberwoman, Heavy Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-19
Updated: 2015-08-19
Packaged: 2018-04-15 14:23:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4610040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Taamar/pseuds/Taamar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On the occasion of his 24th birthday, Ianto Jones shares a cupcake and a glass of champagne with his girlfriend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Champagne and Cupcakes

**Author's Note:**

> AN: This was originally published a year ago on fanfiction.net as An Unremarked Occasion, a title I regretted as soon as I realized that I had been reading Aunty Lala’s An Unremarked Life and had ripped it off.

** Champagne and Cupcakes **

 

  Ianto has no trouble at all getting to Lisa’s room in the basement without being noticed. He works hard to be unobtrusive, and can generally slip in and out of the Hub as he pleases, leaving through the cog door at the end of his shift, then quietly slipping in one of the old tunnel entrances he’d used when smuggling Lisa in. Tonight, though, it’s even easier; the team has gone to the pub to celebrate a successful mission. He’d been prepared to excuse himself with the explanation that he had to write the incident report while events were still fresh in his mind, but they hadn’t bothered to invite him. He tells himself that he’s relieved, and ignores the ache of loneliness.

  He sits in the small chair next to Lisa’s life support unit and sets a small paper tote on the table he’d brought down so he’ll have some place to keep a book and a glass of water when he is able to visit her. Lisa likes to be read to when she is lucid, and Ianto feels better when he can pretend he’s doing something to help. He spends most of his off-duty hours here, often falling asleep in this chair, and only going back to his flat to shower and change. Ianto guesses he’s sleeping about three hours a night, and it’s starting to take its toll on his health, but he doesn’t know what else he can do. He can’t work less, and he refuses to give up what little time he has with Lisa. She hasn’t been as aware lately as she was at first; in the beginning she’d begged for help, had given him instructions on building the life support unit she needed, and spoken frequently of their life together. Since she’s been settled in the Hub, though, she seems to spend most of her time sleeping. Ianto visits anyway, and hopes she’ll be awake.

  He takes Lisa’s hand and squeezes it gently. “Missed you today,” he says quietly. “I miss you every day, of course, but today was particularly rough.” He pauses a moment, then continues, “A year ago we were at Orsino’s, remember? You were wearing that slinky gold dress and kept sliding your toes up my thigh under the table. I barely tasted my veal piccata, I was so eager to get that outfit off you!” He lifts her hand and brushes his cheek against it, closing his eyes at the memory. He’d been so happy. His 23rd birthday, a good job, a beautiful girlfriend… everything had been perfect. They’d walked back to her flat for coffee and cake. Lisa had baked the cake herself, and it showed. Lopsided and messy, it had been delicious nonetheless. That night, lying in each other’s arms after showering off the last of the frosting, had been the first time they’d mentioned marriage. “Ask me in a year,” Lisa’d said, and Ianto had planned to propose on this very night.

  “Next year, my love,” he promises, “on my 26th, and we can pretend this whole year never happened. Like it never was.” She doesn’t respond, but Ianto didn’t really expect her to.

  He sets her hand back in the cradle of the support unit and leans back in the chair, tipping it on its legs.  “They forgot, you know. Or Jack forgot. He knows my birthday, he recited my CV on the Quay that morning, but he didn’t say anything today. He flirts with me- with everyone, actually- but doesn’t seem to pay any attention to me other than that. Not since he hired me.” Ianto’s cheeks flush with heat when he remembers the feel of Jack underneath him on the floor of the warehouse when they'd caught Myfanwy, and thinks it’s best that he and Jack maintain a bit of professional distance, no matter that he sometimes wonders what would have happened if he’d given in to his urge to kiss him. Since that night, he’s dreamed of Jack more than he dreams of Lisa, and he intends that neither of them will ever find out.

  The rest of the team might legitimately not have known his birthday; Gwen has been there less than a month (and it didn’t sting _at all_ that she’d been included in their outing while he’d been left behind), Owen only deigns to acknowledge his existence when coffee or cleaning are involved, and Tosh… as much as she’s been the kindest of them, she’s always been a bit impersonal, saying please and thank you by rote, but never really seeing him.

  “Anyway, they’re gone now; out of the Hub, so I thought we’d have a bit of a celebration down here,” He settles the chair properly once again and reaches into the paper tote to retrieve a small bakery box, a split of champagne, and a pair of tall flutes. He opens the box and flattens it to keep the table tidy. The bakery has included a candle, but forgotten a fork, and Ianto shakes his head at their carelessness as he carefully opens the champagne, pouring it into both flutes.

  “I know you can’t drink any, sweetheart, but it just wouldn’t feel right without you. I’d share the cupcake too, if I could. I won’t taste as good at that ugly cake you made last year, and we certainly won’t be wearing the icing, but it’s all I could manage. My mam was the same, she never bothered to bake for birthdays, and we were grateful for it.”

  His mother is someone else he’s missing today, and his tad, who always took him to the cinema as a treat on his birthday. No matter how bad things got, they’d always managed to pull it together twice a year, once for his birthday, once for his sister’s. He’s considered visiting Rhiannon, but while she called him several times after Canary Wharf, he’d never answered, and the calls had eventually tapered off. He wonders if she thinks he’s dead. Sometimes Ianto thinks he might be, just dying in exquisitely slow motion. More than half the Canary Wharf survivors have committed suicide since the battle, and he’d have ended it already if it not for Lisa. He stands abruptly and smacks his palms down on the table.

  “Damn it, Lisa, this isn’t how it was supposed to go. I should be on one knee with a ring right now, and you should be pretending to be surprised. I promise I’ll buy you a ring if you get be-“ he breaks off with a choke when he realizes what he’s just said. “ _When_ you get better. I’m sorry.” The thought creeps into his mind that it doesn’t matter… Lisa hasn’t regained consciousness since he’s been here, and didn’t hear his slip, but he doesn’t want to admit that he’s starting to lose hope. He reminds himself that Tanizaki will arrive soon.

He sits again and buries his face in his hands. “I’m so sorry. I don’t mean to be like this, I want to be strong for you, to make everything better, but I don’t know how. This was supposed to be the best day of my life, the day you agreed to marry me, and here we are: you plugged into a machine, and me so worn down from lying to my teammates I can barely remember what life was like before, when it was just you and me and our brilliant future. I’m so sorry.”

  After a moment, Ianto notices that the candle has rolled onto the floor, picks it up, pushes it into the cupcake, and lights it with the lighter he still carries even though he hasn’t smoked since the day Lisa said it made his kisses taste like an ashtray. Humming “Happy Birthday” to himself, he watches the candle burn into a small puddle of wax on the icing and gutter out. Silent tears run down his face as he listens to the quiet _whuff, whoosh_ of the ventilator. He takes one of the flutes, drinks the champagne in one swallow, and lets the glass fall through his fingers to shatter on the concrete floor.

**Author's Note:**

> Author's Note: Best guess, Ianto’s 24th birthday happened sometime around ‘Ghost Machine’ (ask if you want me to justify this). He’s physically exhausted, emotionally damaged from the battle, has a massive case of survivor’s guilt, an awkward attraction to his (male) boss, no connection to his family, and a girlfriend who may or may not be human. The angst just goes to eleven. Many thanks to Gmariam for helping me work up the courage to post, maybe you’ll get fluffy smut for his next birthday. (This was originally posted a year ago; my slightly less angsty 'Gifts' is this year's story.)


End file.
